I caught that quiver and your eye’s hopscotch;
your nose pressed to the earth like a bloodhound
chasing after the convict.
You judged me in less than a second. I saw it.
I saw the thought projected and processed
and stored within your mind’s archives,
tucked away for future reference
or ransom.

These roads are too dark for me to drive
and you’ve told that story to me before.
I’ve heard those verses a thousand times,
and I don’t care to remember them.

I’ve realized that we want to stand out and blend in
when convenient for us,
but the timing is never quite right.
Someone is always left empty-handed,
walking the aisles of mixed or missed items,
drawing circles in the margins of masterpieces.


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